Flickering Candlelight
by Muffintine
Summary: [elijah/sophie][complete] Sophie laughs coldly, the sound of it broken and distrusting. "An honorable vampire, please," she scoffs with malcontent, "spare me."


**Flickering Candlelight**

**Solijah; oneshot**

* * *

Sophie swallows, the lump in her throat refusing to budge; it's lodged there, hard and suffocating in its reminder of her loss. She encircles her hand around the cream colored candle that sits innocuously on her prep table. It's new, unlit, and cold underneath her grip. She digs her nails into the unyielding wax, biting back the tears threatening to overtake her, to make her crumble and waste away.

She blinks rapidly, looking up at the wooden planes of the ceiling before giving a shaky breath. "Okay," she exhales. "Okay." She releases the candle from her grip, fetches a lighter and cups the wick as she lights a single, private candle for Jane-Anne.

For her sister, the woman who believed so _fervently_ in her; who was murdered in the middle of a dimly lit street, her life thrown away without so much as a backward glance, or apologetic wince. She was laughed at, mocked as she drew her last breath. Sophie closes her eyes and leans forward, saying a private prayer of cleansing. She leans back after a moment, opens her eyes, and lights as single stick of myrrh, in remembrance. It burns quickly, filling the small kitchen with its musky scent.

Her hand is still shaking when she sets the lighter down with a soft clunk. She doesn't turn around, only lifts her head high, blinks away the tears, and wipes angrily at the ones that manage to escape regardless, streaking wet lines down her cheeks. "It's rude to hide in shadows, you know," she says boldly, teeth clenching as her eyes stay firmly set forward.

She hears his quiet grace as he rounds the table, smooth hand dragging along the rough, splintered edge of the prep table. "I meant no offense," he says politely, stopping to stand in front of her. He's impeccably dressed, handsome in that timeless way, though his eyes still speak loudly of the old world. She flickers a harsh gaze at him, setting her lips into a severe frown. "What do you want, Elijah," she sneers at him, but the sound of her voice is tired, weak.

He cocks his head to the right, gaze considering. He fixes his shirt collar absently, long fingers gripping at his jacket and then smoothing down his front. He's a perfectionist, then; a man who doesn't make decisions lightly. "I merely came to offer my condolences," he says, accent thick, speaking around his full lips like a sweet seduction. She won't allow for herself to be pulled in.

Sophie looks away from him, jaw hitching as she swallows, mouth suddenly dry. "You expect me to believe that?" she questions dangerously, hand caressing Jane-Anne's burning candle as her expression darkens into something bitter, something _hateful_.

Elijah doesn't move, doesn't have to, as his presence alone is enough to make her feel cornered. But she will _not _be intimidated. When he speaks, his words are measured, even, and enchanting in their execution. "Loss of human life is not something I take pleasure in," he tells her; she doesn't detect deceit, but neither does she believe his petty words. They mean absolutely _nothing _to her.

Sophie laughs coldly, the sound of it broken and distrusting. "An honorable vampire, please," she scoffs with malcontent, "_spare_ me."

He lifts a perfectly manicured eyebrow at that. "You do not believe a vampire could seek to be noble?" he inquires, moving ever closer to her. "That I only came here to seek peace?" He pauses. "I mean you no harm. I give you my word."

Sophie fixes a sharp glare on him, steps towards him, feet pressing in against the dirtied floor. "Your word holds no merit in this town," she informs him stiffly, acutely aware she is alone in a room with one of the oldest beings on this earth, no magic to aid her lest she forfeit her life—her plans, her sister's _sacrifice_.

Elijah's hand flashes forward, gripping her wrist abruptly. The sudden contact causes her to gasp, makes her involuntarily lean into the touch, his lukewarm—_dead_, she reminds herself—skin pressing in against her own hot flesh. It makes her heart stutter, beating too-fast within her chest. "Let go of me," she demands.

He smirks, a little wisp of a thing. "As you wish," he says in a deep baritone, releasing her wrist at once. "I would like for us to be … _allies_, Ms. Deveraux."

"Sophie," she corrects with a cold, clipped tone.

He inclines his head slightly. "Sophie," he amends.

"My sister died so that your brother's child may live. So that it may give us freedom," she says, speaking candidly, with suppressed anger. "Do not fool yourself into thinking we can be on good terms otherwise. There is a lot of blood in your past, it has soaked into your hands, _ruined _you." She fixes a steely gaze on him then, taken aback slightly by the sorrow his gaze holds. The quiet acceptance.

"Indeed, there is," he says simply in reply. No excuses, just bare agreement. It startles her, shakes her to her core.

Sophie clamps her mouth shut with a click and then, "I want no part of it," she says shakily, sparing Elijah one last, uncertain look, before fleeing from her own kitchen, the emotions swelling in her chest like a fire, burning right through her common sense.

Elijah watches her leave calmly and then carefully, reverently, snuffs out the candle.

"Rest well, Jane-Anne."

* * *

**R&R?**


End file.
